


A Vein of Magic

by parisiennewitch



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisiennewitch/pseuds/parisiennewitch
Summary: Taking place right after chapter 9 in Anoshe from A Conjuring of Light.Holland met with someone familiar, and she told him the story of White London and its saviour.This story was inspired by a tale in ACOL, Is Aven Strass, The Blessed Thread.Where Magic made a blessed thread and tied itself to Man, and from that day they shared their best and worst, strength and weakness, becoming one. Halves of a whole.
Relationships: Holland Vosijk/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	A Vein of Magic

"Hello, Hol."

Holland wasn’t sure of what just happened. In this world, people did not believe in the existence of an afterlife, when people died they simply returned to the source, to magic. Their bodies nothing more than empty husks. No, he must still be alive, and delirious by the sound of it. And yet, Holland had felt the breath left his lungs, felt his heart going still... but that voice, that voice sounded so much like someone who has been gone a long time, sounded so much like...

"Talya?"

"No, I am not Talya. Though I suppose you could name me anything you'd like," the voice answered, bright and clear.

Too clear. As if it was in his head.

Holland’s eyes snapped open. He was relieved to see the gleaming Sijlt and a cluster of trees, when something tugged across his vision. The air was shimmering with a familiar tinge of magic and when he focused his eyes, he could see a figure sitting on the grass in front of him. Its edges blurred, its entire body seemed to slip in and out of focus. He automatically reached for his power but emptiness greeted him. Of course, all his powers were absorbed by the Inheritor. Dread filled his stomach as he realised he could not defend himself, _his_ city, against whatever creature that was slowly materialising in front of him.

After everything he went through, trouble still found him. Whatever this creature was, it reminded him of Osaron. He grimaced inwardly at the memory of Osaron taking over his body, and for a brief moment, Holland was afraid this creature would try to do the same. But, there was something different in its voice, calming where the Shadow King’s had been intruding and laced with force. This voice felt like it has always belonged there, and Holland wasn’t sure if he should be more afraid or relieved.

As if sensing his discomfort, the creature seemed to retreat farther away from the panes of reality, becoming translucent, almost invisible, barely a flicker of light.

"It’s alright, Holland. I would never hurt you," it flashed a sad smile.

"In fact, nothing would. Not anymore." its voice lilting and assuring.

The creature—Holland realised, appeared to be a woman, yet Holland knew with certainty that this was not a woman at all,

"What are you?"

She stared at him for a moment, as if considering what to say. She slowly began to speak, "I suppose, by your people’s term, I would be regarded as an _Oshoc_."

Holland tensed. He began to look around for a weapon, anything that would help him fight this creature, only to find his discarded cane. _Better than nothing_ , he thought. He brandished his cane as if it was a sword, not sure if it would work, considering his opponent barely _existed_. The cane would probably go through her. The creature only blinked, and for a second Holland thought he saw sadness flickering in her eyes. Emerald eyes, like his own, after the inky black that marked him as _Antari_ bled out of his right eye.

"Do not be afraid, Holland. I am not a demon, but there are no other terms to call me by. I am _incarnated_ magic, I have a will, a mind, and desires. But, where Osaron and I differ was how we came into creation," she paused, looking to him as if checking if he was still listening, he only clutched the cane tighter.

The creature sighed, "The people of Black London submitted themselves to magic, willing it to give _more_ , and allowing it free reign over their bodies, their lives, and eventually their world,"

"And out of that, the magic listened, it _took_ the people’s desire for more and willingness to give in, and became Osaron. A piece of magic who believed it was his right to conquer, his purpose to make more." The creature’s form was beginning to ripple, and from the tone of her voice, Holland realised she was angry.

"But, those were the only things Osaron knew. So, he set out to do it. He conquered, created chaos, using the people as kindle. All the while not realising he was burning through them too fast, and in the end, the city and its people perished. Drained to the dregs. Without magic to draw from people, Osaron had nothing to do, so he went to sleep."

 _Until I came along_. Holland thought, _No._ Kell _had sent him there_. He wanted to ask the creature how she knew of Osaron, but she was not done.

"I was created out of… desperation," her eyes softened and her voice turned gentle, reminiscing.

"After Black London fell, and the doors between the worlds were shut, the people here had to fend the darkness by themselves. They began to try to conquer magic before it conquered them, like what had happened in Black London. They soon realised what they had was not enough to fight the seeping darkness, so they began to _take_." To Holland’s surprise, he let his guard down and listened, the way he used to listen to Talya when she recited the tale of the Someday King.

"They took magic from each other, believing only the strong would survive, killing the weak for what little reserve they had," tears welled up in her eyes.

"So the people prayed to magic. Desperate to keep themselves alive, desperate to keep magic from leaving them cold and empty, desperate for protection from their own vicious kin-"

Realisation dawned on Holland as he spoke, "You’re _magic"_.

The creature smiled and slightly tipped her chin, "I emerged from the Sijlt," she gestured at the river with her pale hand.

"From the day I came here, I have only sought to help the people. Help them survive, willing them to live. I gave all that I could to protect the weaker ones from being killed, but people were greedy." She ran her hand through her long black hair, and closed her eyes for a brief moment. As if she was taking in the warmth of the sun, breathing in the crisp air. "And I discovered, people do terrible things when they are greedy,"

"They tried to bind magic, they tried to take from _me--_ my power to cover the lack of theirs. And at first, I let them. I only wanted them to live, and if that was how they could live then I would gladly sacrifice myself."

"It went like that for hundreds of years, before I realised I could not take it any longer. If I continued to let them take from me, I would waste away, this world wasting with me." Holland looked at the Sijlt, savouring the rush. He realised the river was beginning to thaw at a rapid speed, and the creature in front of him— _magic_ , was beginning to take a more solid form as the ice melted. He could barely see through her anymore. So she was tethered to the river then. No, she _was_ the river, in a way, a _source_ of magic. This world’s magic.

"And I could no longer bear to see the greed corrupting them, their selfishness leading them to believe that magic should be _taken_ and conquered,"

"So, I hid." Shame and guilt resonated in her voice as she said it, "I ran from them and I hid here, in the woods, but it did not stop them from trying to take more. They continued to leech off me. Forcing my power into their veins with marks and talismans, demanding me to obey to their whims." a breath hitched in her throat.

As long as Holland lived, he suffered. He could not imagine being tortured for hundreds of years. He would run too, would end his own life. He marvelled at how long she had lingered, at what she lived through.

Before he could stop himself, Holland spoke, "I understand." His city had gone through dark moments, and the magic had tried to endure as long as it could, she was the living proof.

The creature smiled, her lips the most vibrant pink Holland had ever seen in his life. "I would have wasted away here. Died in here. But, you came along."

Holland blinked, "Me?"

"Yes. Do you remember? When you were a child, you used to come here. To the Sijlt. Skipping rocks across the surface, hoping to break the ice, hoping you would be enough to save your city and the people in it."

The creature stood and walked toward the river, her gown flowing and melding with the grass. She was wearing a dress made of it, wildflowers blooming on the folds. A halo of golden light formed around her head. She looked like nature itself, Holland thought. He dropped his cane and followed her, stopping when she did, at the river’s edge.

"I remember," memories played in his head, of days long since past, when he had hoped to be the magician powerful enough to breathe life back into the city.

"I watched you every time," the creature grinned. "You were so small, but your heart was so pure. The purest I’d seen in a long long time. I felt your selfless intention, and it reminded me of why I was here. To help the people. To save this world from destruction."

She crouched and dipped her hand in the water, and immediately hundreds of cracks raced through the surface of a large sheet of ice, turning it into little pieces before dissolving entirely. Ahead, the city bloomed with more colours, threads of magic flowing free between the people. The creature stood, her hands cupping water from the Sijlt, and before Holland could register what she was doing, she playfully flung the water on him, or tried to. Holland braced for the icy water to hit his face, but it went through. He froze. He brought his hands up to inspect it and was surprised to find it translucent, 

"What is happening to me?" Just moments ago he had used these hands to grab his cane, now they felt as light as air.

"You died, Hol." The smile withered from the creature’s lips. As if she had forgotten it and did not mean to remember.

He died. It was real then. His last breath had actually left his lungs moments ago.

"Then why am I still here?" Holland willed his face into a mask of calm, but panic was raging inside him.

"Because I will it so," the creature said. "When people die, they return to magic." She raised a brow as if to say _to me_. He wanted to ask _how_ he was here, but the creature had continued on with her story,

"I chose you. I made you _Antari_ , and in doing so it almost took all of me. Made embers of my magic," she took his hands, and Holland was not sure how she could physically touch him, but he was only here out of her sheer will, so who was he to decide what was possible or impossible.

She turned his hands so the shadow of his veins were exposed to the sun, he could feel the warmth of it he realised.

"But, I was here your entire life," she pointed a look at his veins. "I bound myself to you. I transferred almost all that I had into you, because I thought, maybe together we could have a chance to fix this world." she swallowed.

"You were never alone, Holland. I lived through each and every one of your nightmares with you. I tried to help you endure, help you get strong, help you fight, because I believed you would be the key to saving this world." She looked into his eyes as she said it, and Holland shuddered. Because looking back into her eyes, it was like looking at his reflection.

"And, I was right." she whispered as she let go of his hands and turned to watch the Sijlt, its currents now strong.

He slowly remembered the times he was suffering and tortured. The warm tugs he felt in his heart, the push to keep on living despite the thoughts to end it all. A memory came to mind, of when he was locked in the dungeon beneath Red London’s palace, when a guard had tried to drive Delilah’s dagger into his heart. The sudden involuntary flood of his magic willing the knife to stop. It was her. It was _all_ her, in a way. She had been there every step of the way, a silent companion. Holland was never alone. A phantom of a breath hitched in his throat. Holland looked around him, at the waking city, the gleaming river, the luscious green of the grass beneath his feet. _Alive_ , the world was alive, and he had fought to make it so. A soft laugh escaped his lips, and he was surprised at the sincerity of it. Holland had no words to express what he was feeling, to say to her that he was glad he was never alone, that she never let him fall, no matter how broken he was. That after all, there was a reason he was _Antari._

Holland turned to face the woman standing beside him, "Kajsa."

She blinked, "What?"

"You said I could name you whatever I’d like. I shall call you Kajsa." The word meant _pure_ in Mahktan. Looking at her, at the world resurrecting around him, it was the only thing he could think of.

"I like it," Kajsa beamed. A soft pink flower bloomed out of nowhere in her hair, signifying her approval of the name. The sight of it broke his heart, not with sadness but with something else. Happiness. And gratitude, for he was granted this moment, to see that all his efforts had not been a waste in the end. To meet an old friend. They stood there for a long while, watching the life return. The trees in the Silver Wood were now tinged with shades of brown and green, more birds flew in the sky. Even from this distance Holland could see that the buildings of White London were no longer ashen but vivid, and Holland thought he heard the cheers of his people, hear them sigh with relief.

Kajsa was the one who broke the silence, "It’s time, Hol." She outstretched her hand.

And Holland knew what she meant, she had let Holland stay so he could _see._ To let him know about what had happened and what will continue to happen to his home. He was only here because of borrowed time, a kind gesture from his friend. Magic had never left him after all, _Kajsa_ never left him.

Holland took a sweeping look across his world, his last one, and breathed in deep. He smiled and was amazed to find it reaching his eyes. He could feel the weight lifting off his chest, his heart now overwhelmed with an array of emotions. Relief, gratitude, sadness, but he was not afraid. _Death is gentle, death is kind._

He took Kajsa’s hand in his, she was truly alive now. Her skin tinted pink with life, her cheeks plump, her emerald eyes so like his own but somehow brighter. Wildflowers in full bloom all over her hair, her dress, and all around the banks of the Sijlt.

"Thank you, Holland," she said with a gentleness that caught his breath. "For everything."

Holland slightly bowed his head in farewell. He felt the warmth of Kajsa's magic gently enveloping him, love and gratitude radiating with it.

And then, at last, Holland let himself go.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story as a softer death for Holland, I just thought he should know what his death brought to his home. And I just could not bear the thought of Holland being alone all his life, with no one who truly loved him without trying to kill him. So I created Kajsa, because throughout the Shades of Magic series, I feel like his magic was the only thing he could rely on, so why not made it his friend?  
> Anyway, not sure if someone had tried this storyline before, but it just came to me. I wrote this as a way to cope with Holland's death. Let me know if there's anything amiss and if anyone would like more of Holland x Kajsa's encounters, Kajsa's POV or maybe her backstory as well.


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